Doesn't Mean Anything
by GeneratorCat
Summary: Jason gets a tattoo under suspicious circumstances and Tim is the king of denial. (JayTim.)


AN: This is for JayTim week 2016, day one- tattoo

* * *

"Now, before you say anything, I want to put it on record that it was all Roy's fault," Jason mumbles into his coffee, not quite meeting Tim's stare. The curtains over every window have been pulled back and the late morning light beams into the apartment, highlighting the dark bags under Jason's eyes and his bare chest. Tim can't look away from that chest.

"Jason, babe." Tim leans his elbows hard on the kitchen table, rubs the stubble growing on his chin. "You are the Lord of the Idiots."

" _Roy_ is the Lord of the Idiots. As I just put on record. Pay attention."

"Roy isn't the one with the Red Robin symbol tattooed on his chest."

"He might be," Jason grumbles.

"No," Tim says, because if that were true, Jason would have sent him a picture of it last night. Instead Roy had sent him an ominous video of an empty bottle of whiskey and Roy's hand, thumb up, with muffled laughing and cursing in the background. And a strange buzzing sound that Tim hadn't been able to place at the time.

Tim asks, "So what happened?"

"What happened," Jason answers on the heels of a large, fortifying gulp of coffee, "is that true love and alcohol don't mix."

He pauses, maybe hoping that will suffice, and Tim smiles a little, looks at him expectantly until Jason sighs. "So true love and alcohol. You and whiskey, to be precise. Oh, all of this is your fault, too. That's going on the record as well."

"Of course."

"Thanks. So, I was telling Roy about you, going on about how perfect and lovely you are and how much I love you. I said I loved you more than anyone, and Roy said I couldn't love you more than him, and I assured him that I did. Then Roy got terribly jealous and demanded that I prove it, because he just wouldn't believe he wasn't the most important person in my life. So I proved it," he finishes with a wave at the tattoo, a little breathless.

Tim looks at Jason while Jason looks at the floor. The clock on the wall ticks. Coffee is sipped and Tim is. Grasping. At any other possible explanation, because he knows that can't be true. It's ridiculous. Jason said the wordlove _five times_ , and that's the clincher. Jason wouldn't use that word, like that, for the first time, _like that_ , if he really meant it. And Jason doesn't love Tim, so. So something else happened.

"You lost a bet," Tim ventures.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Tim lets out a slow breath and hopes that the thing he's feeling is relief, though it's a little too tight in his stomach. But it has to be relief because the alternative, that he might not be relieved, that he might actually be happy at the thought of Jason tattooing _Tim_ onto himself out of _love_ , is- heavy. "What was the bet?"

"You know that scene in Speed where Keanu Reeves drives the bus off the end of the overpass?"

"Yeah."

"It doesn't work in real life."

* * *

Tim's feet squeak on the mat as he jumps back out of Jason's reach. He immediately ducks back in, landing a hit to Jason's side before slipping away again. Jason scowls and Tim smiles.

Jason moves forward, crowding Tim to the edge of the mat. He swings to the right and Tim dodges left and is tripped by Jason's foot; he rolls away. Tim scowls and Jason smiles.

They've been sparring for hours and neither have gained an advantage and Tim loves it. Tim is fast and plans out six moves ahead. Jason is powerful and his reflexes and instincts let him match each move Tim makes. They are fluent in each other's body language and this, the movements toward and around each other, is how they communicate best.

To their left Bruce and Dick are moving in well-worn patterns, kicks and flips and jabs that, while improved, were established years ago. Dick has his escrima sticks now and makes a larger target but it's the same dance they perfected when he was a little boy.

At the far end of the cave Damian is testing some equipment, discussing with Alfred how the new blades compare to the old ones. He demonstrates with three knives thrown into a dummy, lightning quick.

The cave is filled with noise, grunts and labored breathing and feet slapping the mats and the swish of metal flying through the air.

Tim is about to send a kick to Jason's right knee when Jason slips out of combat stance. Tim immediately follows, standing at rest, and Jason pulls off his t-shirt, tossing it to the side. He sets his feet again, squares his shoulders and hips. Tim takes a moment to stare, and from the corner of his eye he notices Bruce do the same, which gives Dick an opening and leads to Bruce being slammed to the floor.

Dick clicks his tongue and adopts a low, mildly condescending, reprimanding tone; the one that all of the kids have had to endure, and makes Jason narrow his eyes and Tim roll his. "Can't let yourself get distracted, Bruce," he mocks, though now that he's spotted Jason's chest he seems fairly distracted himself.

As Bruce pushes himself up, Tim whispers, "Did you do that on purpose?"

Jason just smiles.

"What is that," Bruce asks.

Jason glances down at himself, eyebrows raised as if surprised by the art he sees there. "Well, how about that, I got a tattoo!"

It really is a beautiful piece, clean lines and vibrant colors. It's all healed up now and Tim has spent a good deal of time examining it. Tim still doesn't know how he feels about it. Or rather, he does, but only in that place in the very back of his mind where he keeps the thoughts he refuses to acknowledge. Because it's a twisted, giddy feeling that is absolutely inappropriate. That's him, his own symbol there on Jason. Over his heart like a signature. It's something like. Ownership. And that's not okay. Jay wouldn't think it's okay.

Because that's not why it's there.

"You got a tattoo," Bruce echos in a flat voice and it's weird, so weird that he didn't growl it. Because this is the part where he gets angry and lectures them on identifying marks and responsibility and not being an idiot. But he doesn't look mad or even annoyed. He seems surprised, mostly, staring hard at the symbol etched into Jason's skin with the occasional glance to Tim.

Jason doesn't say anything, doesn't explain, and Tim starts to panic because he knows what it looks like. He sees it in Bruce's face and Dick's silence- why is Dick silent, he should be laughing right now, because that's what it is, a joke. Instead Dick is starting to smile, a little proud and fond and Tim blurts out, "he lost a bet."

Dick's grin turns indulgent. "Oh?"

Tim says, "Roy," and that in itself is enough. But for good measure he adds, "And whiskey."

Meanwhile Jason and Bruce are evaluating each other. Jason crosses his arms, defiant and defensive, but Tim doesn't understand why. It's all so silly, he shouldn't be. It shouldn't be so serious. Jason should be laughing and teasing and Bruce should be shaking his head at his idiot son's questionable life choices.

Instead they are quiet until Bruce softens, slightly, and gives a little nod, like approval or acceptance. And then he turns back to Dick and they start to spar again.

Tim is left with the sense that something important just happened, but he's not sure what it was. Jason is trying to hide that he's happy and Bruce is trying to hide that he's proud and Dick is sending these little loaded glances to Tim that Tim can't read. Even Alfred and Damian are looking at the pair of them in a way he's never been looked at before, and Tim's left feeling very adrift. Everyone knows something he doesn't.

"Come on, baby," Jason calls, pulling Tim's attention back to the moment. He's ready, body set and hands up, challenging gleam in his eye that Tim can't resist.

They go another hour or two or four and Tim is lost. In the fight, in what happened, in the jittery feeling he gets when he focuses on the tattoo. He fights hard to wear himself out, just to not think about any of it for a while.

* * *

"I heard about you and Jason," Kon says around a mouth full of french fries. A glob of ketchup clings to his chin. Tim is content to leave it there because suddenly, he thinks that's what this lunch is about. And here he thought they were going to have a nice time.

He shifts and the booth cushion squeaks underneath him. He takes a sip of his coke and the bubbles burn on their way down. "That was five months ago, buddy. Remember, Cass took a picture of us kissing and sent it to everyone. You flew over -actually beat Bart here which, I still don't know how you managed that- and threatened Jason not to hurt me. By the way, that didn't work."

Kon shakes his head. "He's terrified. Trust me," he says in that overly confident way he has that usually precedes disaster.

"He spends most of his time with Kori; he's not afraid of you."

Refusing to acknowledge that, Kon plows on, waggling a fry at Tim. "So the tattoo."

Tim snatches the fry away and plops it in his mouth. "How did you even hear about it?"

"Bruce, Clark, me."

"It was a bet, Kon. It doesn't mean anything."

Tim has been saying that a lot. Mostly to himself; it repeats in the background of his mind, an underscore to all of his thoughts that keeps him in place. (It isn't really working.)

"You're an idiot."

"Love you too." Tim picks at his pizza, suddenly not in the mood for pepperoni.

"I'm saying this _because_ I love you. You are oblivious when it comes to yourself so my job as the best man-"

"Best man?"

"Best friend," Kon corrects himself quickly. "That is a man."

"Are you, though? A man? Your name is Super _boy_."

"I know you're just getting defensive because we're talking about _feelings_ , so I'll let that slide," Kon says graciously. Tim rolls his eyes. "Anyway. My job as your best friend is to point out when you're being a dumb-ass. Which is right now."

"You think I should have gotten the cheeseburger," Tim sighs, looking down at his plate sadly.

"I think you're ignoring the fact that Jason is completely in love with you and did something to _show_ you because he can't _tell_ you with actual _words_."

"It was-"

"A bet." Kon sends an exasperated glance to the ceiling like there might be help written out up there. There isn't. Tim checked already. "Who came up with the tattoo idea?"

"Roy."

"You sure?"

Tim hadn't asked, but it had to have been Roy. That's something Roy would think is hilarious, and it's not like Jason would suggest it.

"Even if it was Jason's idea, he didn't think he'd lose," Tim points out. "And he was drunk."

 _He was drunk. He was drunk_.

"Your denial abilities should be studied. Look, Tim." Leaning forward, Kon braces his arms against the table and pins Tim with a hard stare. "You know he cares about you. You've been together for five months, and before that, you danced around each other for years. And you, my guy, have been in love with Jason Todd since you were, what, ten? I've seen the drawings."

Tim cringes. He thought he'd burned all of those.

"It doesn't-" Tim starts, but the words get stuck in his throat. He's been trying desperately to not think about this. "If what you're saying is true, if Jason actually- It'd be more than just a tattoo, okay? At least, more than what it means for other people, and he can't possibly… He doesn't."

Kon's voice softens. "I know what it means. What I don't understand is why it's so hard for you to accept."

They're quiet for while and then Kon waves over the waitress and orders a chocolate shake. He slurps it noisily enough the tension breaks. With a grin Tim grabs a spoon and claims the whipped cream.

"You'd better get your shit together soon," Kon warns.

"Am I on a time limit?"

"Well, it's nearly spring time." Kon winks. "I'm thinking a June wedding."

* * *

When a knock sounds against the apartment's door, Tim is baffled. The only people that visit him are Jason and the rest of the bat clan, and they all come in through the window. Even in civvies, in the middle of the day. It's just… what bats do, Tim supposes, himself included. It can't be a neighbor at the door, because he doesn't have any. He'd bought out the entire building.

And so slowly, quietly, with his bo staff in hand, Tim creeps over to his door. He peers through the peephole and sighs. Unlocks the door and swings it open.

"You're an idiot," Roy says as he brushes past Tim and into his apartment.

"Everyone keeps saying that lately."

"Sometimes the majority is right."

"In that case I should go gluten-free. That's all the rage nowadays." Tim closes the door and sets the locks back in place. Then shudders at the thought of being bereft of his favorite foods. Or worse, eating cake made from rice flour.

Roy flops onto Tim's couch and makes himself comfortable. He reaches into a front pocket of his jeans. "Here, I got something for ya."

"My birthday is next month. And are we doing presents now? Is our relationship to that point yet? Because I'm not sure what the protocol is for that. I don't know what to buy for my boyfriend's best friend who I very occasionally hang out with."

Roy stares at him.

"Socks?" Tim tries. "Oil for your bow?"

With a shake of his head and mumbling under his breath, Roy picks up Tim's laptop from the coffee table and plugs in the flash drive he'd pulled from his pocket. "Just watch this, you sassy little fucker."

Tim plants himself on the couch next to Roy and gets the computer placed on his lap. There's a video file waiting and Tim taps play.

"Go on," Roy's voice sounds from the speakers, gentle. Coaxing. On screen the image wobbles and then steadies, pointed at Jason. He's leaning against a brick wall, it's nighttime and a streetlamp off to the side casts half of him in shadow. "Keep on with what you were saying."

"I love him," Jason says, a little muddled. His blinks are slow and his feet shuffle every few seconds, trying to keep balance. He's drunk.

Roy asks, "Who, Me?"

"No! Well, I do love you, but not like I love Tim."

"You love him more than me?" Jason nods seriously and then grips the wall when he starts to tip too far to the side. "I dunno man, I don't think I believe that."

"It's true," Jason insists, looking at the camera fiercely. "I love him more than anything! Tim is the best thing that's ever happened to me and I'll be with him forever and- and I'll prove it to you!"

Roy laughs. "How?"

"I'll… Tattoo! I'll get a tattoo for him and not for you or anyone else. Wouldn't ever let anyone mark me after- yeah, so I'll do it just for Tim and it'll be special. He'll love me forever back." Jason smiles, looks so proud of himself.

"Really? You'd do that?"

"For Tim?" Jason closes his eyes and his smile turns soft, wistful. "Anything."

* * *

It's such a Jason way to go about it, Tim realises. Make the whole thing a joke. A drunken night, a lost bet. Plausible deniability.

Tim stares at the tattoo. Lays there and looks at Jason's chest, slowly rising and falling in the moonlight. The pale skin, dark hair. Scars.

Everyone else had seen through it immediately. In hindsight, Tim really should have, too. He knows Jason, maybe better than anyone. He should have known it before.

Jason sleeps so peacefully now. Occasionally he will have bad dreams, they all do, and it'll never go away completely. But it's not every night and it's not as violent as before. And tonight he looks happy. Calm.

Tims stares at the tattoo. He runs his fingers lightly around the lines, the bold colors. He trails his touch down, to the ribs, following the lines there. Different lines, not ink but scar tissue. Jagged lines across his stomach and over his hip. Tim knows it's worse on his back. Tim knows the marks all over Jason, on his arms and legs and he knows what Jason sees every time he looks at them. He sees pain. He sees the worst of the world etched into his skin. Jason sees and feels reminders of what the world can do to you if you let it. If you're stupid, and weak, and you walk right into the fire.

Jason is marked, head to toe, in pain and evil. He hates it. He hates them all.

And then there's the tattoo. That symbol Jason willingly let someone add to all the rest of it. That thing that's like Tim's signature that Jason _chose_ to have on him, forever.

Jason sighs, eyes fluttering open. He sees Tim and smiles. "Hey."

"Hey," Tim whispers.

"Something wrong?"

A little part of Tim wants to say yes, yes there's something wrong. All of this is wrong. Tim is the wrong person, he doesn't deserve any of it. The love and trust Jason has given him. He doesn't want to take it. He wants to run away, destroy it all because that's how things are supposed to be. People leave and Tim hurts and that's what he knows. This, he doesn't know this. Where someone loves him and wants him and trusts him and isn't going anywhere.

Tim has been fighting this since that first morning, when he saw that fucking tattoo and his insides twisted and he knew exactly what it all meant but he shoved it away hard. He couldn't accept it.

"Tim? Honey?" Jason is more awake now. Concerned. Open.

Jason is open to Tim. He let Tim into his life, into him.

Tim rests his hand on Jason's chest. Feels the heat and the thump of Jason's heart.

"Yeah," Tim says. "I'm okay. Everything is. Okay."

Jason relaxes back into the pillows with a grin, pulls Tim down next to him and wraps his arms around him.

"Hey, Jason?"

"Hm?"

"I really like your tattoo."


End file.
